Falling Through Hell
by TheFarceHunter
Summary: Here is a pathetic attempt at romance. It's only a one chapter thing to read while I finish Ch. 5 of AIC. A summary would ruin the story, and that's bad, kids! SashaxOleanderxLinda. JUST KIDDING! SashaxMilla. Rated teen for mild language.


'Lo again, children! Here's something short to chew on while chapter 5 of AIC is still unfinished (I know you don't read that fic, but just letting you know). I don't own Psychonauts, as usual. Tim Schafer, Double Fine Productions, Inc., here's some horrible fan fiction based on your game.

Falling Through Hell 

Chapter One…of one.

It was a typical Monday morning at Psychonauts HQ, an obscure-looking office building located in the depths of Manhattan. Agent Sasha Nein had sluggishly pushed open the heavy doors to the sound of phones ringing, Truman's loud swearing at a clinically stupid rookie, the secretary reminding him of the lists of things he needed to get done yesterday, and several of his colleagues placing bets on who could successfully read Zanotto's mind without him noticing. Sasha smirked, and the three men sitting by the water cooler became nervous as their superior stopped and stared at them.

"Not a chance in Hell," the German remarked, snickering discreetly to himself as he left the agents to think up other ways to get themselves fired. Yes, it was incredibly fun to play pranks on the Grand Head of the Psychonauts, and Sasha was guilty of participating in most of them, but to try to snoop around in the mind of who was possibly the world's greatest telepath was a blatantly idiotic thing to do. As Sasha made his way into the break room to pour himself a cup of coffee, he saw Milla Vodello and her friend, Anne Barron engaged in an emotional conversation. He tried not to eavesdrop, as those things were uninteresting to him, but when he heard his partner choke back a sob, Sasha grew concerned and listened in. It would create an awkward situation if he approached her, especially with his lack of social skills, but he did not want to appear to be ignoring Milla. The man was inept, when it came to public relations, at least, but he was not heartless. Agent Nein was quiet, cold, and contemplating, but it was because he wanted to be professional at work, especially with a woman as friendly and attractive as Milla Vodello, whom Sasha had known from the beginning of his career. There were feelings between them, but Sasha was far too introverted to let Milla know how he felt. If it were up to him, Milla would never know that he loved her. He would not, however, leave her to suffer with something that must have been horrible. One had to have done something beyond awful to make Milla Vodello cry.

_Damned if I do, damned if I don't,_ Sasha thought to himself, wincing as the hot coffee spilled over and burned his hand as he poured hastily in his sleepiness. The cheap, Styrofoam cup felt incredibly brittle in his hand, and after he poured the remaining liquid down the drain, Sasha snapped it in two and discreetly dropped it in the trash can. He grabbed another cup and began to pour again, slowly, to give him time to hear the two speak.

"…I don't know what happened," Milla whispered, her hands shaking, "it wasn't his time, you know? It wasn't…" She trailed off, tears filling up her big, green eyes. Anne stroked her hand gently.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said, her arm reached around Milla to bring her closer, "if there's anything I can do, let me know. Alright?" The gesture was kind, but it only made the sensitive Brazilian more upset. She tried to blink the tears away, but force would not stifle her pain. Milla began to sob, her hands hiding her face from the outside world. As Sasha heard this, he carefully placed the coffee pot down on the stainless steel counter. Guilt overcame his shyness and he sat at the table next to Milla. Anne was holding Milla in her arms, and she looked up to see Sasha waiting patiently to get their attention. He noticed that Anne looked drained, which was to be expected from a psychic who was primarily an empath, and she gave him a grateful look as she tapped her friend's shoulder. She looked up, her eyes red from crying, and flushed from embarrassment. Sasha smiled, half-nervously, half-sympathetically from behind his sunglasses.

"Are you alright, Agent Vodello?" Milla rolled her eyes; even in personal moments, her partner still insisted on formalities. She shook her shoulders, wiped her eyes, and handed Sasha a letter. He opened the envelope and read the note once, twice, then three times. His head jerked up at Milla. As if the neat handwriting upon the crisp, white sheet had not spelled any real words, Sasha's brain was in too much shock to understand. He tried reading the letter again.

_Dear Ms. Vodello,_

_I am sorry to inform you that your father has passed away on Tuesday, January 17__th__. There will be an autopsy performed as soon as you give your consent, as Mrs. Vodello has not yet responded to our calls. Please give the Jose Miguel Martinez Hospital a call. You can reach me at the number provided below. I am truly sorry for your loss. _

_Thank you,_

_Michael Rodriguez _

"Milla, I'm…I'm so sorry. If there is anything I can do for you…" Sasha was unsure of whether or not his words would help. Some people graciously accepted sympathy. Others cast it aside, refusing to compromise their strength for a bath in the community pity-pool. Sasha raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his strange analogy. If the time was not entirely inappropriate, he would have taken a moment to laugh. His partner smiled through her tears after reading his mind. Yes, he thought to himself, Milla was strong enough to bounce back. Everyone needed a time to mourn, and even the bravest of people, those who have been to Hell and back, had to cry when their loneliness overcame them.

"It's okay, Sasha. I'll be fine." She stuttered and wiped a stray trickle of emotion from her cheek; Sasha was not so sure. "No, really! Sasha, don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?" His face twisted, trying to restrain his mirth. The loving concern in his eyes penetrated through his sunglasses and made Milla blush. It was unlike him, and it frightened her. She did not know that coldness could be dispelled when the trivialities of life become the daily anchors of our sanity. Premature death was not a new concept for either Psychonaut, but they were not desensitized. They had seen rescue missions end in tragedy, and even the one or two out of perhaps seventy cases made Sasha light an extra pack of cigarettes, and it made Milla take her one black dress out from the recesses of her closet for a week. The sadness was not about to leave her now; the tears ran steadily despite her best efforts to stop them. For a split second, Sasha panicked. He did not know what to do, what to say, or how to say it. Milla leaned her head on his shoulder, and he edged closer. Sasha stroked her long, brown hair and let her cry. Soft hiccups of sobs shook her feminine frame. She thrust her body further into Sasha's, his nose buried itself into her hair. He breathed deeply, taking in the seductive scent of female hormones and raspberry shampoo. They calmed and excited him at once, he grew dizzy, but it did not bother him. As the room spun, Sasha took another breath. It was not his fault that biological attraction set in at an awkward time. Milla did not seem to notice, luckily for him. She also didn't notice the hoards of rookies staring at the two, taking bets on how long it would take for Sasha to officially date her. That is, until Sasha gave them a "warning," or a telekinetic shove into the wall.

"Oh, leave them alone, Sasha." Milla muttered, muffled from Sasha's shirt.

"If you insist," her partner replied, "I _do_ have more important matters to worry about." Milla released herself from Sasha's grasp, looking at him in perplexity and worry.

"I'm sorry! You must be late for something important." He smiled, averting her captivating, green eyes. The words that came out of his mouth were trite, to say the least. He kicked himself for it afterwards, but the end result was worth some humility. Sasha did not know any other way to say what he was feeling; he did not have the experience to understand it.

"Of course not. You are that something, Milla."

"Sasha?" She began to laugh; the hackneyed statement was amusing by itself, but the fact that Sasha Nein had said it was downright hilarious.

"No, wait. I mean…" He sighed, blushing a shade of maroon. It was no use. He meant what he said, no matter how corny it was. The words were held back since he had first met her, when they were both young Psychonauts, pacing nervously at Truman Zanotto's office door, waiting for him to show them around. It was a hard time, back then. There were so many secrets between them, so much truth behind Milla's extroversion and Sasha's grimness. Years had passed, and the secrets were no longer secrets; Sasha and Milla had learned to trust each other, and consequentially, to love each other. It took the German a while longer to find the guts to admit it, but time did not make Milla any less happy when he did.

"So, will you stay with me?" He nodded, but Milla was not convinced. "I have to fly out to Brazil to settle everything, you know." Sasha nodded again, unwilling to leave her alone. Milla grinned, cleaning her running makeup. She planted a soft kiss on Sasha's lips, stunning him for a minute. _Relax, Sasha_, she thought to him. He slowly rid his shoulders and neck of tension; it was time to trade his anxiety for a love that had been restrained for years.

As we plummet through our living Hell, I see you beside me, and it is not a Hell any longer.

…Fin…

Author's Note: So that was a little cheese-tastic. Alright, alright. I get it. "Farcie, you suck at writing." Yeah, I know. Let's not beat a dead horse, here. Romance is not my forte, if that wasn't Captain Obvious. Oh well, maybe it will entertain someone on FF.

Ta-ta for now, chitlins,

Farcie


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